Josh Nows Best

Josh and his mom relax in the sun as Janice introduces him to the joys of nude sunbathing.

Many thanks once again to JordanJohnson for his editing expertise.

I hope you enjoy.

**********

I floated on my back. The warmth of the sun on my front warred with the coolness of the water on my back. The breeze sent goosebumps rippling over my skin. Glorious. I returned to my towel and was sitting before it occurred to me; I was not the least bit self-conscious being nude.

Mom rose and took my place in the lake. I stood and turned my back to the sun. I sat cross-legged with my arms resting on my legs, my hands hanging loosely between them. I bowed my head, letting the sun dry my neck.

"Careful, Joshua. The sun feels good but a sunburn will not."

I raised my head. Ms. Porter had marked her place with a bookmark and put the book aside. She was looking at me.

"Yes, ma'am. I minute or two more and I'll scoot back into the shade." I pointed with my chin. "What are your reading?"

"

A Farewell to Arms,

" she replied, holding the book up so that I could see the cover.

"Brutal ending," I said.

"You've read it?" I nodded. "For class?" she continued. I laughed.

"No. It's over twenty-five pages, far too long for a generation raised on social media.

The Old Man and the Sea

was all they dared force us to read. I loved it so I checked out a few of his other works."

Ms. Porter frowned. "I only work parttime now but I see plenty of young people reading, surely things aren't as dire as all that?"

"Isn't it pretty to think so?" I replied with a grin.

She smiled back. "Now you're showing off."

I confessed with a shrug.

"It's a great pity your mother never went to college. She was a voracious reader as a child. I waived the check-out limit for her."

"I keep hoping she'll go back," I admitted. "She should be a principal or superintendent not an administrative assistant to a man with half her brains."

Ms. Porter nodded. "True, but Janice did what women have always done. She endured. Did what she had to do. No shame in that."

"I'm not ashamed of her," I protested. "I'm in awe of her. I regret she never had the opportunity to explore, to see what more she could do and be."

Ms. Porter nodded again. "We are both, I fear, being a bit presumptuous. We are assuming Janice would

wish

to have a different life. Perhaps what she wished to be is exactly what she became. People, my sister especially, often assume, or flatly state, that I

must

be

lonely

or that I

must regret

never marrying, having children. I find it irksome on the best of days, yet here I sit doing the same. Shame on me."

I turned to look at mom. She was swimming short laps back and forth across the cove. Had I decided she must not be happy, must not be satisfied, because

I

could not imagine being so if I had been in her shoes? After all, they were her shoes, not mine.

I racked my brain trying to recall mom saying anything about not being content with her life, unhappy with her life, even. Of course, she would never say such things to me. Did she act sad? Act unsatisfied?

I admitted to myself, she did not.

What was I saving her from? How could I make her feel whole, feel like a complete woman, if she

already

felt like a whole woman?

Was I saving her or trapping her? Drawing her closer, binding her more tightly to me than she already was. I had always wondered if she hadn't dated because she was afraid of how I would react.

Was I proving she would have been right to worry? Was I making it even harder for her to put enough distance between us to have her own life?

I learned early in life not to play poker. I wear my emotions on my sleeve, as they say.

"Joshua, are you okay?" Ms. Porter asked. I could feel her peering at me, though my eyes remained fixed on mom.

"Uh, yeah, I'm fine. Too much sun. You're right," I managed to croak before I moved my towel into the shade and stretched out on my stomach. I rested my head on folded arms. My face turned away from Ms. Porter.

The stillness of my body gave lie to the turmoil inside my skull.

I pretended to be asleep when mom returned from her swim. I was peripherally aware of the two of them chatting but nothing from the conversation penetrated the whirlwind of arguments and recriminations roiling my brain.

I was vaguely aware of Ms. Porter saying she was going to take a dip in the lake. I would be left alone with mom. A few hours ago, the thought would have filled me with joy and a healthy dollop of desire. Now, it filled me with dread.

"Josh, what's wrong? I know you're not sleeping."

I could never fool mom into believing I was asleep.

I came up with nothing better than the oft used, never believed, "nothing".

She dropped a hand on the back of my leg, down low by my foot. "Uh-huh. When you're ready to talk, I'm here."

"Am I sucking away your life? Trapping you?"

"What? No, don't be ridiculous. Why would you ask such a silly thing?"

"Because you never date, you work all the time and now we're...you know. It occurred to me I'm like a vampire, sucking your life away from you, keeping you from something better."

"Baby, I

did

date, but nothing ever clicked. Unlike your father, the men I dated weren't batshit crazy, but still, there was never anyone worth the effort of pursuing. That had zero to do with you. What brought this on?"

"Nothing in particular. I simply realized that instead of fulfilling you, I might be smothering you. Did I blackmail you into this with all my blubbering and whining?"

"No," she replied, slapping the side of my leg for good measure. "You were very clear if this was too much for me, we did not have to go on, that you'd rather keep me as a mother. How is that blackmail? You both gave me the choice and promised to support whatever choice I made."

She patted my leg. "Sweetheart, you convinced me you've thought about this like an adult. Like an adult you gave me room to make up my own mind. You..."

"But I didn't," I interrupted. "I didn't give you room. I stalked you to your hotel and forced you to let me in." I still had not turned to look at her.

"That's true," she replied after a pause. "On the other hand, I was not adult enough to tell you I need time and some space. I just ran off. Not very mature on my part. You forced me to listen to your side. You forced me to face the truth of what had happened and what I wanted to do about it. Don't misunderstand, I don't mean 'forced' as in coercion of any kind, but rather you would not allow me to ignore the situation."

She patted my ankle again. "Honey, I'm glad you're thoughtful enough to worry but on this one I think you're being too hard on yourself." Her hand left my ankle and I heard her moving away.

"I don't know about you but I'm starved. I'm going to grab a sandwich. You want one?"

A moment ago my stomach would have recoiled at the thought of eating. Now? Now, it growled loudly. I rolled over and sat cross-legged on my towel. "Yes, please."

"Ham or tuna?"

"Whichever one you don't want. I like both." I was not being noble. I did like both.

"Well, knowing your appetite, I brought two of each. So, ham or tuna?"

"Tuna."

She tossed me the sandwich. I was in the process of setting it down beside me when she tossed a bag of Cheddar and Sour Cream Ruffles that hit me on the side of head. Her laughter confirmed she had intended to hit me in the head. I pretended to glare at her.

She laughed harder.

"I'll get my own soda, thanks." I rose and crossed to the cooler and grabbed a can of Coke.

"Oh, honey, you know I'd never hit you with a can of soda."

I gave her a look as a walked back to my towel. "Do I?" I asked.

"I saw the entire incidence, Josh," Ms. Porter called as she padded her way toward her blanket. "As a librarian I am required by law to report any suspicions of child abuse to the authorities."

My heart was already crawling into my throat when I caught the twinkle in her eye. Mom just laughed.

"Ms. Porter, would you like a sandwich? Ham? Tuna?"

"No thank you, Janice. I'll sit for a few minutes to dry off, then head home."

Mom nodded. I finished my sandwich and opened the bag of chips. I stared at one before popping it into my mouth.

"I get why the British might call a 'chip' a 'crisp'," I said, careful to avoid spraying stray bits of chip as I spoke. "But a French fry, does not look like a chip. A chip is round and flat, like a coin. Or a poker chip. I cannot wrap my head around calling a fry, a chip."

I shrugged. "Call them fries or call them chips, in either case it is a wonderful thing to do to a potato."

Ms. Porter rose and pulled a sun dress over her head. She folded up her towel and stowed it, and her book, in her bag.

"It was lovely to see you again, Janice," she offered turning to go.

"Ms. Porter?" mom called.

"Yes?"

"Uh, please don't mention seeing me here to my mom."

Ms. Porter smiled. "By here, do you mean at the park, or do you mean being nude at the park?"

"The later," mom replied.

"Of course, dear. I suspected that was the case. Lovely to meet you Josh."

"

A Farewell to Arms

or

The Sun Also Rises

, which would you rather have stranded on a desert island?" I asked before she could turn away.

"Am I restricted to American authors?" I shook my head. "Would you, perhaps, allow a trilogy to be treated as a single work?" I considered for a moment then nodded. Without hesitation Ms. Porter answered.

"The

Old Filth

trilogy by Jane Gardam. Why she never caught on with readers in the United States is beyond me. Wonderful writer. Do you know her?"

I shook my head.

"I expect that state of affairs to have been corrected before we meet again." She looked at mom. "I do hope we shall meet again."

"I would like that," mom replied. "Summers are fairly slow for me." She looked at me. "Josh? You afraid to be seen with your mother at a naturist beach?"

"No, I am not," I answered firmly.

"Barring uncooperative weather, I'm usually here most afternoons, Sunday through Wednesday. I cover the library Thursday through Saturday to allow the fulltime staff to enjoy long weekends."

"We'll keep an eye peeled," I told her, waiting to see her response.

"Puns are the lowest form of humor, Josh, really." She tried to sound gruff, but her eyes were smiling.

Mom looked confused.

"Peel off clothes. Eyes peeled." Ms. Porter offered by way of explanation before turning with a wave and heading down the path leading to the parking lot.

"Oh, that is awful," mom groaned.

†

After we re-packed our stuff into mom's car she paused, resting her butt on the trunk lid. She retrieved her phone from the pocket of her shorts, then looked at me.

"Would you mind if I check on mom? We're so close. I feel guilty at least not checking to see if she's home and free for a quick visit."

"Sure," I replied. I loved Nana. I thought she was a hoot. Mom, having grown up with Nana's sighs and passive-aggressive observations, had a more complicated view of her mother. For me, the fact Nana always had home-made cookies on hand overcame any number of negatives.

She hit the dial button and I wandered away to give her some privacy. It was impossible to have a phone conversation with Nana that lasted less than ten minutes. It was like the fourth law of matter or energy or something. Einstein or Planck wrote a paper on it. Trust me.

I had time to trudge over to the outhouse. It was locked. I shrugged and peed into the bushes. When I returned mom was putting her phone away. I could see the conversation had left her as frazzled as all her calls to Nana tended to do.

"Let me guess," I offered. "She wondered why you hadn't called earlier. The house was 'in a state'. She had planned to go to either the grocery store, get gas or get her hair done. Then when you said we'd make it another time she expressed wonderment at how you could be 'so silly' as to suggest such a thing. She would always have time for her daughter and grandson."

I smiled at mom's wry grin. Or perhaps it was a grimace.

I continued. "You know she's shittin' kittens we're coming to visit. She can't say so without feeling vulnerable. You might abandon her like your dad." I turned to mom. "Wow, your dad, my dad. I'm starting to think it's a good thing I'm a dude. The women in your family have a defective gene when it comes to picking men."

Does that include me? Is mom making another mistake?

The thought raced through my head before my words finished exiting my mouth.

"You'd think I would have learned something, wouldn't you?" mom replied, opening the car and climbing behind the wheel.

It was only a twenty-minute drive to Nana's. She fussed over how much I had grown. I had not. She was so excited about graduation next weekend. She put on her

I disapprove but won't say so

look when she learned I was skipping school today.

She would outlive my mom by five years, but I have yet to determine whether Nana imagined she was being kind by not saying out loud what her facial expressions made so clear. For the most part I chose to believe she didn't realize how easy it was to read her face. Like me, she would have been a terrible poker player.

I was in luck, oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies. Whole milk. not the non-fat mom preferred. Even mom relaxed after a cup of tea. She and Nana did not get cross with each other. They laughed as Nana recounted the latest tales of absurdity afflicting life in small town America. Neighbors would stab you in the back and then quite happily give the shirt off their own to staunch the wound. I was on the verge of escape. Eighteen-year-old Joshua would have hooted in disbelief if told him one day he would return. Eighteen-year-old me thought only of escape.

And of Janice.

†

Mom declined Nana's offer to stay for supper. She wanted to get home before dark. She was tired and wanted to get a good night's sleep.

All true.

I knew the way home from Nana's and mom accepted my offer to drive. Stopping at Nana's had not been much of a detour. We would be home in half an hour. One perk of rural life - no rush hour traffic.

The warmth of the afternoon was already leaking away by the time we left Nana's. There was no need for the A/C; we drove with the windows down. The early spring air smelled wonderful. A living, vibrant green smell. In a few more weeks the summer heat would burn away that smell and replace it with one of parched earth and dust.

"It was a good day, huh?" I asked, shouting a bit to be heard over the rush of the wind.

"It was a wonderful day. It's been ages since I visited with mom and left in a good mood."

I nodded and reached over to hold her hand. She took it and leaned over the center console to rest her head on my upper arm. The wind wiped her hair into my face; I did not mind at all.

The faint smell of the lake mingled with the scent of spring. I twisted my neck and managed to kiss the top of her head. She squeezed my hand.

I tried to focus on the road. Honest to God, I did.

And I succeeded, but that didn't stop my cock. The warmth of mom's cheek on my arm, the feel of her hand in mine, the smell of her hair. Any one of the three would have been enough in those days. Who am I kidding? Nothing was required to get me hard in those days.

At first, I thought she was ignoring, or perhaps had not noticed, the growing tent in my shorts.

When her index finger stroked the bulge beneath my shorts, I knew I had been mistaken. She had noticed and was not ignoring.

I wondered, briefly, if I should stop her. The day had been fantastic. Compared with the day before, it had been beyond 'fantastic'. I feared we were tempting fate.

But then her finger began to move over my boner and fear lost out to desire.

"That feels good," I commented, shifting slightly in the seat.

Mom said nothing. Her finger continued to stroke my cock. I felt myself grow harder with every beat of my heart. Her touch was maddeningly light. I did my best not to squirm.

Her hand moved and she pulled at the drawstring of my shorts. Her hand moved beneath the waistband. Warm, soft fingers wrapped around my cock. Unbidden, a low moan escaped my lips only to be swept out the window to join the spring air.

It was difficult to stroke me, with her arm confined as it was by the waistband of my shorts. I wanted to lift my butt and pull them down. At the same time, I did not want to appear too demanding.

Thirty years later and I still have trouble navigating the line between openness regarding one's wants and fear of appearing too demanding.

Like the amazing lover she was, my quandary was resolved when she tugged at the waistband of my shorts. I lifted my butt. She tugged my shorts down to mid-thigh and I sat my bare ass back down onto the scratchy fabric of the car seat.

I still recall that. The itchiness of the car seat. Despite the wave of excitement that broke over me when she took my cock in her mouth.

I pushed my back against the seat, raising my butt, pushing my cock into her mouth.

She did not protest.

I forced my body to relax and my mind to pay attention to the road as her mouth and hand began to move over the shaft of my cock.

I groaned, as much with embarrassment as with passion, when I came in less than a minute. Mom slowed her strokes and waited patiently for me to finish. She held me in her mouth as my cock softened.

"I'm sorry," I panted when she pulled away and rested her cheek on my shoulder. Her hand cupped my cock.

"For what?"

"For cumming so fast, like a freakin' little kid."

She laughed. "Josh, honey, I was sucking your dick. It makes no difference to me when you cum. I should probably thank you. You saved me from a sore jaw."

"Does my cum taste bad? Should I warn you before I cum? Do you need me to stop so you can get a soda out of the back?"

"No sweetheart. It doesn't taste bad. I can't say it tastes good but it doesn't bother me." Her head left my arm as she pulled back to look at me. "You've never tasted your semen?"

"No," I gasped, surprised. I had never considered doing so. "I taste my precum sometimes, when I jerk off, when I lick my hand for lube."

"That's probably close I would imagine." Mom was quiet. A few more miles rolled beneath the tires. "I'd like to watch you masturbate."

I risked taking my eyes off the road to glance at her. "You want me to jerk off in front of you?"

She nodded. "I think it would be erotic," she added. "But I want you to do it after you haven't had an orgasm for a couple of days." Out of the corner of my eye I could see she was blushing. "I want there to be a lot of semen."

"Cum. You want to see a lot of cum when I shoot."

I swear I felt the heat from her blush.

"I'll do it. I'll go two days without cumming and then jerk off for you but you have to say - 'I want to watch you shoot a huge load, Josh'."

"Josh, baby, I want to watch you shoot a huge load of cum all over your chest and belly for me."

"Deal."

†

The thoughts mom had planted made it even harder to concentrate on the road. As we approached the town, she finally scooted back over in her own seat, leaving my limp cock to loll against my thigh.